


Sunday

by libertycas



Series: December 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, Domestic, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Top Dean, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libertycas/pseuds/libertycas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is always eager. Especially on endless, lazy mornings like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is set in the same universe as [Days 'Til December](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4884085) (a year or so later), but could be read as a stand-alone fic.
> 
> I don't think this is what you guys meant when you asked for a sequel, but that doesn't mean I've completely ruled out the idea of writing one eventually. I wanted to return to this 'verse in some shape or form, and I got the idea (and the motivation) to write a little one-shot. I hope you enjoy it!

Dean wakes on a lazy Sunday morning to a bedroom filled with soft, hazy light bleeding through the blinds; to warm, rumpled sheets and a bed which feels just a little too large when there’s no one to share it with.

Not that he’s ever alone in this bed for more than a few minutes, though. Dean hasn’t slept alone in almost two months now. He reckons that has to be one of the greatest perks of being in a relationship. There weren’t many others before he met Cas.

It’s a few moments before Dean untangles the sleep-cobwebs from his brain, before he stretches his arms, wiggles his toes and drags himself into the realm of complete consciousness. From the dull, thudding sound of spray coming from the bathroom and the robe missing from its hook on the back of the bedroom door, Dean hazards a guess that Cas is in the shower. The dip in the mattress and the warmth of the pillow beside Dean suggest he hasn’t been in there too long, either. Dean half-contemplates getting out of bed to join him, but he’s so warm and so perfectly comfortable that he finds himself unable - or perhaps just unwilling – to move. Instead, he rolls onto his side, closes his eyes and wraps himself into a cocoon, bunching the covers up under his chin.

Besides, staying in bed doesn’t necessarily mean missing out. Cas might well make an attempt to initiate something when he returns. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

They’ve lived together for two months now, woken up beside each other every morning in the tiny bedroom of their equally tiny apartment on a leafy street in Brooklyn. Dean’s getting used to living with Cas. Moving away from home was more than a little strange, and they’d only met three times in person before moving in together – the week they spent in New York last year, the nine days Dean spent with Cas’ family over Christmas and the spectacular two weeks they spent earlier this summer on a semi-nationwide road trip. Dean met up with Cas in Boston and they worked in a beeline South-West, ending in Kansas and with Cas meeting Dean’s parents. That alone was a pretty huge step – moving in together was something else entirely. Dean’s track record is less than stellar when it comes to relationships. He never thought he’d ever get round to moving in with someone before he turned thirty, let alone twenty-one.

It’s good though, living with Cas. He’s quiet and tidy, doesn’t have any particularly awful habits besides leaving his clothes on the bedroom floor. He makes huge breakfasts on weekend mornings, vast towering stacks of the most incredible pancakes Dean’s ever tasted, does his fair share of laundry and dishes, puts up with Dean’s music and the terrible singing that accompanies it.

The sex is pretty incredible too, in terms of quality and quantity.

A prompt eight-thirty start at teacher training college five days a week mean that Cas isn’t quite as adverse to mornings as he used to be, though he often makes up for it at weekends. Sleeping in until ten or eleven isn’t unusual for him, and even then, he’s only coherent once he’s downed several cups of sweet, tar-black coffee. The prospect of sex is probably the only thing that could entice Cas out of bed any time before nine thirty on a weekend morning, so him being up and in the shower already is a pretty strong indicator that he’s going to initiate something when he gets back. Dean can’t wait.

Dean opens his eyes when he hears the metallic squeak of a tap and the shower spluttering to a halt. He grins, rolls onto his back and shrugs off the covers. A couple of minutes later, the door creaks and Cas pads into the room, his bare feet soft against the floorboards. He smiles when he catches Dean’s eye.

‘Good morning.’

‘Morning, Cas,’ Dean replies, with a yawn and another cat-like stretch.

Cas returns the robe to its hook on the back of the door, pads across the room and climbs on top of Dean when he reaches the bed, resting his hands flat against the mattress on either side of Dean’s head. He’s naked and warm, his skin smells of mint and his hair smells like apples, and the longer strands are still damp along his hairline. Dean instinctively reaches up to grab Cas’ hips and Cas leans down to kiss him, long and slow and deep.

‘Do you want to have sex?’ Cas asks, so nonchalant and matter-of-fact as always.

Dean grins. ‘Am I never gonna say no to that?’

Another kiss and Cas is shifting up onto his knees, giving Dean room to wriggle out of his t-shirt and boxers and toss them to the end of the bed. Then Cas places a hand on Dean’s chest and pushes him back against the mattress, dips his head and begins a messy trail of kisses down his neck, pausing to suck a bruise when he reaches Dean’s collarbone. The neck is a no-go area when it comes to teeth now that they actually have to behave like semi-respectable adults, but anywhere below that is fair game. Dean still has two purple marks on his inner thigh from Friday night.

Cas continues his way down Dean’s body, kissing his chest and stomach, inching on his hands and knees until he reaches Dean’s cock, half-hard since that first scrape of Cas’ teeth along his neck. Cas forms a loose fist and takes Dean into his hand, gripping his hip with the other, blunt nails digging into the skin.

He works Dean slowly, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses across his stomach and thighs, stroking him with a loose, unhurried touch until he’s fully hard. He flicks his tongue out to collect the first bead of precome that gathers at the slit and rolls the head of Dean’s cock on his tongue, humming in satisfaction when Dean’s mouth falls open around a moan. Dean loves it when Cas does this, even more so when he takes his time with it. Cas was impatient the first handful of times they had sex, too eager to bother with anything much beforehand. He’s far more willing to stretch it out these days and savour every moment of it.

Dean runs his fingers through Cas’ hair, grabbing a fistful at the crown of his head when Cas sucks the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. Cas keeps his eyes locked on Dean’s as he sinks all the way down, until his nose is buried in the wiry curls at the base. He bobs his head slowly, moans around Dean’s cock as he ruts into the mattress and pulls up to tease the slit with his tongue. Dean keeps his firm grip in Cas’ hair with his right hand and reaches down with his left to run his thumb across Cas’ lips, soft and wet with spit and precome, to stroke his cheek and trace the shape of himself against it.

Typically, just as it’s getting really fucking good, just as Dean thinks he’s close to coming, Cas stops and pulls off completely. He sits up on his knees and shifts forwards to straddle Dean’s hips, cups Dean’s face in his hands and leans down to kiss him again.

‘Do you want me to…?’ Dean says, glancing down. Cas is hard now, leaking against his stomach.

Cas shakes his head in response. ‘Just fuck me.’

Dean reaches over to the nightstand, fumbles around in the top drawer for lube and spreads it on his fingers. They stay as they are, Cas straddling Dean’s hips, leaning down so they’re chest-to-chest so they can kiss and touch as Dean works Cas with his fingers, stretching and easing his body. Cas spreads his hands flat, running them down Dean’s chest, punctures their kisses with low moans and gasps against Dean’s mouth whenever he gets the angle just right.

Eventually, Cas rears up and shudders, moans Dean’s name and slides off his fingers. Then he’s reaching over for lube, slicking up his hand and stroking Dean. They don’t bother with condoms these days – there’s a box in the nightstand drawer, and they’ll wear one if the other really insists, but most of the time there seems to be little point. They’ve been exclusive for more than two years now. Cas shifts back and grips Dean’s cock in his fist as he lines himself up, then there’s a push and a low, rumbling moan from Cas as he sinks all the way down.

God, he’s great. He always is, but Dean loves it even more like this, when he can touch Cas all over, watch his face and the way he rolls his hips. He looks incredible, backlit by the sunlight seeping through the blinds, hair mussed at the front where Dean ran his fingers through it; the long line of his neck bared as he tilts his head back, running down to meet the broad slope of his shoulders. Cas sits for a few moments, his chest expanding on each deep inhale, rocking his hips gently from side to side, seating himself fully and adjusting so that the angle is right. Then he places a hand on Dean’s chest, pinning him down against the mattress, and starts to move.

He moves his hips agonisingly slow at first, so much so that Dean has to bite down on his bottom lip to resist the urge to thrust upwards or roll Cas over and fuck him. Then Cas catches his eye and fucking _smirks_ at him, and Dean groans – son of a bitch, he’s doing this on purpose. Going slow just to get Dean worked up, waiting until he’s desperate before giving him more than this. Cas loves teasing Dean, and Dean would probably never admit just how much he loves it, but Cas is driving him crazy right now. He’s desperate for any kind of friction, any kind of movement at all, and he’s barely getting anything. Dean claws his hands in the sheets and grunts behind clenched teeth, hoping Cas gets the message.

He does, though he doesn’t give Dean much warning when he decides to speed things up a little. Cas growls, snaps his hips and abruptly increases the pace tenfold, fucking himself hard and fast on Dean’s cock. The bedsprings groan in complaint, and Dean holds on for dear life, digging his fingers into Cas’ sides, wondering absent-mindedly if he’s grabbing hard enough to leave bruises. Cas keeps his hand firm against Dean’s chest, pinning him to the mattress as he rolls his hips. He’s loud as always, moaning and gasping, breathing Dean’s name when he moves deep and hits the perfect angle.

Dean lifts his knees and plants his feet flat on the bed to steady himself, finding a strong grip on Cas’ hip with his left hand as he skims his palm against Cas’ cock with his right. He reckons they’ve had sex enough to know when Cas is close – if anything, they’ve probably been overdoing it for the past few weeks (though Dean would much rather think of it as making up for the past two years). He wraps his hand around Cas’ cock, forms a loose fist and starts jacking him, trying to keep up with his rhythm.

He doesn’t get far, though. Cas quickly swats Dean’s hand away and substitutes it with his own, finding a harder grip and faster pace. Cas throws his head back and arches his spine, and it’s less than half a minute before he’s moaning, his body tensing up, his chest expanding with each hard breath. He moans Dean’s name low and loud, and then he’s coming, spilling hot against Dean’s chest and stomach.

Cas is grinning from ear to ear now, elated in his post-orgasm haze as he collapses against Dean’s chest and wraps his arms tight around Dean’s shoulders. Dean, on the other hand, is short-circuiting with the urge to get off. He loves watching Cas, loves doing everything to him and making sure he gets off, but a dull ache has been curling around the base of his spine and twisting its way through his stomach for way too long. He’s craving release now, hungry for it. They’re lying together in a hot, tangled mess for no more than a second or two before Dean’s flipping Cas over and fucking him. Cas moans at the first thrust and hooks his ankles around Dean’s waist, pulling him close until they’re pressed impossibly tight, and gasps as the air is punched out of his lungs with every thrust. The headboard bangs against the wall.

‘Come for me,’ Cas murmurs, running his hand down Dean’s chest. ‘Come for me, Dean.’

Ten, maybe fifteen seconds later, Dean does, burying his head in the crook of Cas’ shoulder to stifle the noise he makes. Cas’ neck is damp with sweat and it beads along his hairline, right down to the fine curls behind his ear, and the stubble on his throat is sandpaper rough, scratching Dean’s cheek. Dean asked for that, though – he loves the way Cas looks with a few days’ worth of stubble and deters him from shaving at every opportunity. After a moment or two, Dean manages to stumble through the fog clouding his post-orgasm brain and force himself away from Cas’ warmth and the smell of his skin, rolling off to one side before his arms give out completely.

They lie in near silence for the next half minute or so, their breaths and the distant rumble of traffic in the streets below the only sounds lingering in the quietness and stillness of the room. Somewhere along the way, Dean starts to wonder how early it is, but the thought is interrupted by Cas sliding a warm hand across his thigh and rubbing small, gentle circles with his thumb. Then Cas rolls onto his side and sits up on one elbow, leaning over to cup Dean’s jaw in his hand and kiss him on the cheek. Dean can feel him smiling against his skin.

‘Was it good?’ Cas asks.

Dean turns to face him and grins. ‘Of course. Always is.’

‘Good,’ Cas says with a satisfied smile. He rests his head back down against the pillow and throws one arm over Dean’s chest.

Dean usually loves this part more than he’d ever want to admit, that first five or ten minutes after sex when they’re lying together in a wonderful warm afterglow, quiet and sated and happy. He loves it no matter what, whether they’re side-by-side or tangled together, regardless of who’s the big spoon or whose head is on whose chest. This morning is a little different, though – that was seriously awesome sex, but Dean definitely feels more than a little gross right now. He knows Cas will complain the second he starts to move, but he’s in pretty desperate need of a shower.

Right on schedule, Cas huffs in protest when Dean sits up and nudges Cas’ arm away from his chest. ‘Come on, man. I need a shower,’ Dean says.

Cas looks up at him and pouts like a grumpy six-year-old.

Dean rolls his eyes. ‘What if I volunteer to make breakfast?’ he adds. ‘Does that make up for it?’

Cas rolls onto his back and stretches, considering the offer. After a second or two, his frown is replaced by a small smile. ‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ll make you the best fucking pancakes I've ever made in my entire life, Cas,’ Dean says, grinning. ‘They might not be as legendary as yours, but I'll give it my best shot. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ Cas says, leaning up to seal it with a kiss.


End file.
